Kidnapped or Rescued?
by Sapphira Volkov
Summary: All mundane. Clary Fray is a poor girl who lives in Harlem with her mother. One night, a white-haired man comes and starts beating her mother, and says that he's her father, Valentine. Before she can process the information, a golden-haired stranger kidnaps her, to keep her safe from her newfound family, and Valentine wants her back. Can Clary save her mother? Rated T for insurance
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, peeps. How's life? Well, this is my first Fanfic, so I'm only going to continue it if I get at least three reviews. If I get ten, I'll update twice in a row. I hope you enjoy it.**

Jace walked through the streets of Harlem, breathing in the scent of trash, graffiti, and alcohol. It was nice to have a release from all the luxury. It wouldn't last long though. Soon he would have to go back to the funeral. He passed by a dilapidated house, absently looking into the cracked bay window, and froze.

o(^_^)o

Clarissa Fray stared at the white haired man standing in the doorway of her home. Her mother, Jocelyn, was frozen, her mouth slightly open. The man smiled grimly.

"Jocelyn." Clary's mother started backing away, but the man reached out and backhanded her across the face, so hard that Jocelyn flew backward, falling onto the floor. "Insolent woman. Did you actually think that I wouldn't find you?" He kicked her, and Clary screamed.

"Stop it!" The man turned his attention to her.

"You." Before she could run, he was beside her, a fistful of her fiery curls clutched in his grip. "Do you know who I am?" She shook her head slightly, whimpering as he yanked her face closer to his by the hair and smiled. "My name is Valentine Morgenstern, and I am your father." The he threw her down next to her unconscious mother and unbuckled his belt.

** Enjoy! Remember, reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, peeps. What up? Anyways, this is pretty eventful. Hope you enjoy!**

Valentine Morgenstern woke up with a throbbing pain in his abdomen. He stood and looked around. There was Jocelyn, and there- he froze. The girl was gone. Tearing through the house, he ran to the bedrooms, searching for her. Then he remembered the boy. A scream of rage tore through him, and he pulled out a cell phone.

"Jonathon, I have a new project for you."

o(^_^)o

Jace stared through to the inside of the house. A man beating a woman, nothing out of the ordinary in this part of town. The only difference was the girl. Fiery red hair, piercing green eyes, she was standing over the woman who could only be her mother, crying and pleading with the man as he beat them each in turn with his belt. Jace's hands unconsciously clenched into fists. This wasn't right on any level. He needed to stop it, but what could he do? Then a plan began forming in his mind, and Jace smiled.

o(^_^)o

Clary screamed as Valentine's belt lashed across her back again. By then, she had already given up pleading, resigned to her fate. As Valentine reached back for another lash, there was a huge crash, and the door was flung open. Clary glanced upward momentarily and registered a godlike boy about her age, staring Valentine down like an avenging angel. He had blond hair and tawny eyes, a leather jacket, and tattoos of various different symbols. Valentine- Clary refused to think of him as her father- looked stunned for a moment, then the boy punched him in the gut, knocking him backward. He hit the wall head first, then collapsed. The boy barely glanced toward him. Instead, he grabbed Clary's arm.

"Come." As he dragged her outside, a cold, sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she realized what was going on.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" The boy clapped a hand over her mouth as they passed an alley, and Clary saw a familiar pair of eyes staring at her. Simon. A hand reached out, stopping the golden boy.

"What are you doing here, Blondie?" Simon, a boy with brown hair, glasses, and a scar down one side of his face, stepped out of the shadows of the alley. "That girl doesn't look too happy." Clary glared at him, then clamped her teeth down on the stranger's fingers, hard.

"OW!" He jerked his hand away, and Clary gasped for air.

"What the hell? Simon, stop stalling and help me!" The boy laughed silently, his chest heaving against her back, and covered her mouth again.

"Someone was beating her and her mother. I'm taking her before he wakes up." Simon stared into his eyes, trying to detect a lie, then, seemingly satisfied, nodded.

"Take her." A smile played across his lips. "You want duct tape? She's a bit frisky." Clary made a small sound of protest, and Simon all-out grinned, but the boy ignored her.

"Sure. Might come in handy." Simon tossed him a roll, and he caught it and hung it on his belt. Simon glanced at Clary, then cleared his throat.

"If you don't bring her back, I'm going to come after you. I hope you realize that. Clary, call me every day." Clary glared, and the boy dragged her over to a pitch black Maserati and shoved her in. Then he got in, locked the doors, and sped away, just as a roar of outrage pierced the night.

o(^_^)o

Valentine Morgenstern woke up with a throbbing pain in his abdomen. He stood and looked around. There was Jocelyn, and there- he froze. The girl was gone. Tearing through the house, he ran to the bedrooms, searching for her. Then he remembered the boy. A scream of rage tore through him, and he pulled out a cell phone.

"Jonathon, I have a new project for you."

o(^_^)o

Jace had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. Clary sat in the passenger seat, her head in her hands, staring at the glove compartment. Jace sighed.

"My name is Jace. I'm sorry for saving your life. If you want, I won't do it again." Clary made a strange noise in the back of her throat, then turned toward him, her eyes shining.

"My mom is still there. You have to take me back." Her voice shook as she spoke. Jace put a hand on her shoulder, then drew back as she winced.

"Sorry. Here." He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "I can't take you back. That man- whoever he is- he's just going to beat you. Until he's gone, I can't let you go home." Clary's head snapped up.

"You can't just-" Jace laughed humorlessly.

"Watch me." They stopped at a traffic light, and Clary tried to open the door, but Jace just sighed. "You're not going to go easy on me, are you?" She shook her head. "Your loss." He pulled over next to a drug stope, left for two minutes, and came back with a small glass bottle. He carefully opened the bottle, careful not to inhale any of the fumes, and tipped some liquid onto a tissue.

"What are you-" She stopped when a sweet, cloying scent filled the car. "Oh, no, please. Don't do this" Jace ignored her and pressed the tissue over her mouth and nose. She tried to hold her breath, but eventually she fell limp. Jace sighed and took out his cell phone as he pulled out of the parking space.

"Alec? I need a favor."

o(^_^)o

Alec Lightwood stared as his best friend carried the redhead out of his car.

"What the hell, Jace? You call me at three in the morning with no information, then end up bringing an unconscious girl home." He paused. "Come to think of it, why did you bring an unconscious girl home?" Jace sighed exasperatedly.

"Later. She needs help. Badly." He pulled his jacket off her to reveal the bloody gashes running down her back. Alec gave a low whistle.

"Come on. We need to go tell Mom."

o(^_^)o

Valentine Morgenstern woke up with a throbbing pain in his abdomen. He stood and looked around. There was Jocelyn, and there- he froze. The girl was gone. Tearing through the house, he ran to the bedrooms, searching for her. Then he remembered the boy. A scream of rage tore through him, and he pulled out a cell phone.

"Jonathon, I have a new project for you."

o(^_^)o

Clary woke up in a room that was all white. At first she thought it was a hospital, then the memories of the night before came back. She sat up abruptly, then blinked at the person sitting on the edge of the bed. Long, ribbony raven hair, pale skin, and tattoos just like Jace had. She was gorgeous.

"Hello!" The girl said brightly. "I'm Isabelle. It's nice of you to wake up. _We_ all thought you'd die in your sleep, because Jace used chloroform." Clary yawned.

"Sorry to disappoint you." She swung her legs off the bed, then cried out in pain and clutched her abdomen. Isabelle looked alarmed.

"What's wrong?" Clary looked down at the bandages wrapped around her torso. Isabelle sighed.

"Oh, that. I don't suppose you could tell me who the man that did that was?" Clary shook her head, suddenly nauseous.

"I have to go back." Isabelle, who was pouring water into a cup, dropped the pitcher. It shattered on the floor, spilling water everywhere. Clary winced. "Sorry." Isabelle ignored it.

"You what?" Clary nodded. "What about the white-haired psychopath?" Clary shrugged.

"I have to help my mom. I have some friends." Isabelle laughed harshly.

"From what I heard, they would have to be in the freakin' mafia to stand a chance against him." Clary shrugged again as her thoughts flashed to Simon. Isabelle sighed. "Well, then, I'll go get Hodge. You stay here." Clary watched her go, then pulled on Jace's jacket and left the room.

o(^_^)o

Outside, it was cool and quiet, except for the distant sound of a piano. Clary followed her ears until she came to door that was slightly ajar. Inside, she saw Jace sitting at a grand piano. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a grey T-shirt, his hair ruffled as if he'd just woken up. As his fingers moved, a beautiful yet mournful tune emanated from the piano. Clary stared at him, remembering how it had felt to have those same hands around her... She shook her head. Snap out of it, Clary. He kidnapped you. He can't be such a good person. Suddenly he stopped and looked up, eyebrows knit.

"Alec? Is that you?" Clary stepped out of the shadows, and Jace's face relaxed. "Our own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?" Clary shook her head.

"No one. I woke up on my own." She shrugged off the jacket. "This is yours." Jace smiled.

"You can keep it for now. You'll need it. Where's Izzy?" Clary shrugged.

"She went to get someone named Hodge. She told me to stay there, but-" Jace smiled.

"But you just couldn't wait to see me. Can't you ever do what you're told?" Clary rolled her eyes.

"Who's Hodge? And Alec."

"Hodge is our tutor. We're all homeschooled. Alec is Isabelle's brother. They had another brother, but..." He cut himself off, then stood and pulled the cover back onto the keys of the black piano. "Come on. I'll take you to see Hodge."

**'Kay, here's the delio. My home computer, for all its glory, has a really strong filter, and I can't log on there, which means that I can't update at home. Therefore, don't get your hopes up if it's past 4:20 PM. Sorry, but shit happens, and my 'rents don't even know that Fanfiction was blocked in the first place. Anyways, reviews, people!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter done! I hope you guys are enjoying. I know, I said I wouldn't until I get ten, but I have half of it done already, and I'm a bit impulsive. Enjoy it while it lasts!**

Jonathon smiled slightly as he watched Valentine pace back and forth, muttering. The boy ran a hand through his white hair.

"I really don't see what the problem is. I track her down, I find her, and I bring her back, preferably with Blondie to teach him a lesson. What's the big deal?" Valentine waved a hand.

"You don't understand. If she's as slippery as Jocelyn was, we might not be able to find her for years. The girl takes after her mother." Jonathon smiled and nodded.

"But you didn't have me back then, and she doesn't know a thing about me. I can dye my hair, and they won't suspect a thing." Valentine smiled.

"You've done well, it's true." He deliberated for another moment, then nodded slowly.

"Go after them." Jonathon grinned.

"Thank you, Father."

The lightwood's house was huge. Clary stared, dumbfounded, as they passed huge corridors filled with doors. Finally they stopped.

"This is the library. Hodge is in here." He opened the door, and Clary followed him inside. The library was huge. inside were rows among rows of books. Jace strode confidently over to a desk, behind which sat a thin man with grey-streaked hair and a long, beaky nose. He smiled.

"So this is the girl you brought home, Jace. Hello, child." Clary smiled slightly.

"Hi." Jace scowled as Isabelle came in.

"Hodge, Clary wants to go back home. Her mom is still there." Hodge's face hardened.

"Clary, do you know the name of the man who beat your mother?" Clary nodded even as she went white.

"His name is Valentine Morgenstern." Hodge let out a deep breath.

"This is bad."

"Why? How do you know him?" He sighed.

"Because I went to school with him." Jace sucked in a breath as Hodge shook himself out of la-la-land and held up a newspaper. On it was the headline, Jocelyn and Clarissa Fray Missing. "Valentine is gone. Jace, you and Clary can go back to the house. If you see anything amiss, you come straight back. Got that?" There was a cough, and everyone turned toward the couches on the other end of the library, where a dark-haired boy was sitting. He could only be Isabelle's brother, Alec, but unlike Isabelle, he did everything he could to downplay his looks.

"I can't believe this. Hodge, you're not actually saying that you believe the little tramp." Hodge sighed.

"Alec, I'm not really sure what you're ensuing here. It fits the description. Valentine was ruthless, even then, and not that many people had his looks. If it wasn't him, who could it be?" Alec shrugged.

"I'm just saying, not everything is as it seems." He glared pointedly at Clary, and she was struck by his hostility. Jace sighed.

"Come on, Clary. There's no place like home."

**Hey, you! Yes, you! Review for me! Please?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Look, I know I said that I wouldn't, but I'm a very impatient person, and school is ending soon, so I won't be able to post so often. I know how it feels to be waiting and waiting for a chapter to a story. So, here it is!**

Clary picked her way through the trash in her house to her bedroom as Jace looked through the master bedroom. Her room was ridiculously small, with only a small cot and a closet to fill the space. Still, everywhere on the walls, there were pictures that Clary had drawn, painted, or sketched. Or, at least, there had been. Every one of the papers, as well as her clothes, had been shredded and strewn across the floor. Clary drew in a slow, shuddering breath, then turned away. She couldn't look. At that moment, there was a low growl from inside the room. Clary half turned, and a huge German Shepherd, easily five feet tall at the ears, came out of her closet. The dog growled, then it leaped at her. She screamed as it pinned her down, growling and snapping, then it jerked and fell, blood pooling around it. Jace stood over her, a bloody knife in hand, breathing hard. He glanced around and cautiously helped her to her feet.

"Are there any more?" Clary shook her head, still trembling. Jace picked her up, obviously not trusting her to keep herself upright, and carried her to the foyer. As he put her down, they heard a gravelly voice chuckle.

"Where have you been, child?" Clary whirled toward the door to see Dorothea, the landlady, standing in the doorway. "I've been worried sick." Clary smiled slightly.

"Dorothea. Have you seen my mother?" Dorothea's face changed, and the smile slid off Clary's face. "She's gone, isn't she." The woman nodded. "Do you know where to?" The landlady sighed.

"You'd better come with me." She showed them into her house, which was right next to Clary's, and gestured for Clary and Jace to sit. Her house was cozy and comfortable, with a sign that said Madame Dorothea, Seeress and Prophetess on the door. "Now, then. I'll tell you your mother's story. She told me this when she first moved here. You were a little baby then, Clary. Just born. It all began when she was in school..."

**The next one is _really_ long. It'll make up for this sucky short one.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, people! Dorothea is a great storyteller. By the way, I appologise if any of you find my vocabulary a bit high. I can't help myself. ;p**

"Your mother grew up in Europe, in a small country called Idris. She had a friend back then, a boy named Lucian Graymark, and she was Jocelyn Fairchild. They were joined at the hip, sort of like you and Simon were.

"Valentine was a year older than them, by far the most popular boy in school. Handsome, rich, clever, dedicated, and kind, he was the perfect student, the perfect friend. Jocelyn was an average student, and Lucian was nothing. He could never study, he was failing in every subject.

"One day, Valentine came to Lucian's room. He told him that he saw him struggling, but he saw the seeds of greatness in him. He offered to tutor him. In that way, Lucian started improving.

"He wasn't the only one. Hodge Starkweather, who got along with books better than people, Maryse Trueblood, whose brother was in prison for inhumanely experimenting with animals, Robert Lightwood, whose mind blanked during tests due to nerves. Valentine took them all under his wing.

"Valentine was very persuasive. He believed that a man owned what was his, be it his family, what he could take from others, and anything he wanted that the owner couldn't keep from him. He was very against women's rights.

"As time went on, Lucian became very close to Jocelyn. They told each other everything. Lucian became Valentine's right hand man, and Lucian told her all his plans. Then Valentine's father died. He became reclusive, and prone to flashes of rage that bordered on cruelty. None of his followers were angry at him. Instead, there was only the crushing feeling of having disappointed him.

"The only one who could calm his rages was your mother. She had always stood apart from their little group, mockingly calling them Valentine's fan club. That changed as he did. His pain awakened her sympathy. They fell in love.

Lucian was never jealous. He wanted them both, his closest friends, to be happy. Still, Valentine noticed the wistful way he stared at Jocelyn. He got angry, and, in one of his rages, he had Lucian killed.

"Of course, it was all put down as a freak accident. Valentine was a genius, if insane. Lucian went for a walk, a pair of pruning shears fell from a fire escape, and he died. Still, Jocelyn began to feel as if there were more to the story.

"She didn't act; they were married already, and then something happened that changed life for the not-so-happy couple.

"Jocelyn became pregnant.

"Nine months later, she gave birth to a boy with white hair and black eyes, the spitting image of his father. They named him Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern.

"By then, Valentine was holding protests against women's rights. It had gotten to the point that his followers were snatching women off the street and beating them. It was almost as bad as the south before the Civil War. Any woman who looked sixteen or older and walked through the streets without a male chaperone was a target. Jocelyn was frightened. She would have run, but she had nothing to lose. She was Valentine's wife, and therefore had nothing to fear, and her son was going to the protests with his father. Then she got a reason, a year after Jonathon was born. She got pregnant again, with you. She fled Europe with a friend's help, got a new identity, and came to America, where she met me. She gave me something to give you, in the event that she went missing." Dorothea reached into the pocket of her muumuu and pulled out a card. On it was written** The Magnificent Magnus Bane**, and an address for somewhere in Brooklyn. On the back was one word. _Run._

**Nya, nya, I stopped it there! Sorry! If you want more, then review for me. Mwa! Love you guys!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey. Enjoy this one. It's pretty informative, but I think you can keep up.**

As Clary left Dorothea's apartment, she stared at the card in her hand. It didn't say anything about what this Bane person actually did. Maybe...

"Clary!" She whirled around, expecting the worst, then grinned.

"Jordan!" She ran over and hugged the boy, then looked him up and down. Jordan had olive skin, brown hair, hazel eyes, and always wore the same clothes; Black jeans, a punk rock T-shirt, combat boots, a leather jacket, and his Preator Lupus pendant. He grinned at her.

"What happened? The papers..." He frowned. "Is your mom okay?" Clary bit her lip.

"She's gone missing. I need to talk to Simon." Kyle nodded, then looked toward Jace and held extended a hand.

"I'm Jordan, Clary's business associate." Jace looked confused.

"Jace Lightwood. What do you...?" Clary cleared her throat with a warning look toward Jordan.

"We should go. Jordan, if you would?" He nodded, then pulled two blindfolds from his pocket. Jace backed up.

"Woah. Hold the phone. I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm missing something. Care to clue me in?" Clary smiled.

"Simon is the head of a gang called the Preator Lupus. Jordan is going to take us to the hideout, but the rule is that only gang members can know where it is, hence the scary blindfolds." Jordan grinned and wiggled his fingers teasingly at Jace, who frowned.

"I don't like it," he declared. Clary snorted.

"Too bad. We're going." She grabbed one of the blindfolds and tied it tightly around Jace's eyes. "Don't worry. I've been there loads of times. Just be glad that Rafael isn't the one driving. He once tied me up for the occasion." Jace's hands clenched into fists, and Clary waited patiently as Jordan blindfolded her, then took their arms and led them to a car. Jace got in first, and Clary grinned. This was going to be fun.

o(^_^)o

Jace was not having fun. Helping Clary with the dog was one thing. Getting driven to an unknown location by a member of a gang whose policy was to blindfold visitors was quite another. Jordan muttered something in Latin, probably into a cell phone, then they stopped. Jace reached for the blindfold, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Not yet. You have to wait until we get inside. Hey, Maia! Come help me with our visitors!" There was the sound of running footsteps, then a female voice.

"Oh, my god, Clary! Are you alright?" Jace was then yanked bodily from the car, practically dragged into a building, then the blindfold came off. He reached into his pocket, feeling for his knife. If they could overpower him that easily, he wanted to be prepared. He found himself facing a curvy girl with brown hair and eyes, who glanced at him questioningly. "Who's your friend, Clary?" Clary shrugged.

"Some rich kid who kidnapped and drugged me the other night." Maia grinned and shoved him playfully.

"Shame on you! Why didn't you let me in on the fun?" Jace smiled slightly.

"Couldn't help it. I was too tempted." Kyle laughed.

"Come on, guys. Simon's waiting for you."

o(^_^)o

When they got to the office, Simon was twirling a knife in his hands, his feet up on the desk. Rafael, a boy with honey skin, dark eyes and hair, and a scar at the base of his collarbone, was talking about something, but it was obvious that Simon wasn't listening. As soon as they walked in, Simon sat up straight, shooing Rafael away.

"Clary! What's going on?" Jordan and Maia politely went outside to give them privacy, and possibly to seek some of their own, while they recounted what they learned from Madame Dorothea. Simon's face hardened as they spoke, and when they finished, he called Zeke, a boy , a pale boy with black hair and brown eyes. "I want you to track down her father. Use whatever resources we have, call in favors if necessary. Find him, and get Clary's mom home if possible." Zeke nodded, and Simon glanced warily at Clary. "It's the best I can do, Fray. If you need anything else, let me know." Clary nodded, and as she turned to go, Jace cocked his head at Simon.

"How'd you get that scar, Simon?" Simon's face went cold.

"Child abuse. My mom was drunk one night, and she came into my bedroom screaming that I was a monster. Well, she had a knife, and she managed to cut my face open before I ran out. That's one of the reasons I'm helping Clary so much without charging like the rules say. That man is a menace. People like my mom don't deserve to live, and people like Clary's mom don't deserve what she's getting." Jace nodded, his face somber.

"I thought so." With that, they left.

When they got to the corridor, they found Jordan and Maia locked in a passionate embrace. Clary smiled and cleared her throat, and they pulled away, embarrassed. Jordan's cheeks were bright red.

"Um, we should go." Maia nudged him.

"Jordan. You're forgetting." He smiled.

"Oh, right. We got a new recruit." He turned toward the hall. "Oh, here he comes." From across the corridor came the padding sound of someone jogging, then a lean boy came into view. He had black hair, black eyes, and was smiling crookedly. He waved and stopped, his eyes landing on Clary, who blushed for no apparent reason.

"Hey, everyone. I'm Sebastian."

**Awesome cliffy, don't you think? Reviews, or you'll never find out how it ends! Mwa-ha-ha!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey. Sorry, I know you're expecting another chapter, but I needed to get your attention. Anyways... I'm writing a new Fanfic with my friend, Victoria Nightshade. It's about the TMI gang, who find out about the books that Cassie is writing, and Maryse tells them to go find the readers who believe in it, so that they can get wiped by the Brotherhood. Anyways, if you want to be a part of it, PM me, and I'll give you more info, and possibly snippets of both stories from time to time. You know you want to.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! Another chapter! We're getting a whole lot closer to the end. Look, I've never been to a party like Magnus's, and his party in the book is too warlock-y to be Mundane. Please give me a few tips, pointers, hints, and/or suggestions.**

Sebastian smiled at Clary, sending a flutter through her stomach. Stop it, she admonished herself. You've only just met him. Still, she couldn't help the thrill that went through her, as if she knew him from somewhere, and they had been close. They chatted for a few minutes, then Jordan took out the blindfolds and took them back to the house. Clary said goodbye to Jordan, then Jace took her by the arm.

"Clary. This was your life? Dealing with the local mafia? What sort of business did you guys do?" Clary bit her lip.

"I would... carry out errands for them. Small things, nothing illegal. It was only when we were low on cash. Simon payed me more than was generally accepted as normal pricing. When his mom... did that, my mom found him and treated his cut. Then he joined the Preator Lupus, and the old head named him as his successor. He died the next week, and suddenly my friend was the head of the most influential gang in this part of New York." She sniffed, and Jace frowned.

"That's it." He dragged her over to his car and started the engine. "You need food, and I know just the place."

"Welcome to the greatest restaurant in New York."

It didn't look like much—a low brick building that sagged in the middle like a collapsed souffle.

A battered neon sign proclaiming the restaurant's name hung sideways and was sputtering. Two men in long coats and tipped-forward felt hats slouched in front of the narrow doorway. There were no windows.

"It looks like a prison," said Clary.

He pointed at her. "But in prison could you order a spaghetti fra diavolo that makes you want to kiss your fingers? I don't think so."

"I don't want spaghetti. I want to know who Magnus Bane is."

"Is he a person you've heard of?" demanded Clary, who was rapidly tiring of Jace's reasonable voice.

"The name does sound familiar—"

"Hey!" It was Alec, looking like he'd rolled out of bed and pulled jeans on over his pajamas. His hair, unbrushed, stuck out wildly around his head.

He loped toward them, eyes on Jace, ignoring Clary as usual.

"Izzy's on her way," he said. "Anyway, are we going in or what? I'm starving."

"Me too," said Jace. "I could really go for some fried mouse tails."

"Some what?" asked Clary, sure that she'd heard wrong.

Jace grinned at her. "Relax," he said. "It's just a diner." They went inside. It was pleasant inside, despite the lack of windows. Cozy wooden booths nestled up against each other, each one lined with brightly colored cushions. Endearingly mismatched crockery lined the counter, behind which stood a blond girl in a waitress's pink-and-white apron, nimbly counting out change to a stocky man in a flannel shirt. She saw Jace, waved, and gestured that they should sit wherever they wanted.

Alec laughed. "Do you remember—," he began, and launched into a story that contained so many mysterious names and proper nouns that Clary didn't even bother trying to follow it. She was looking at Alec instead, watching him as he talked to Jace.

There was a kinetic, almost feverish energy to him that hadn't been there before. Something about Jace sharpened him, brought him into focus. If she were going to draw them together, she thought, she would make Jace a little blurry, while Alec stood out, all sharp, clear planes and angles.

Jace was looking down as Alec spoke, smiling a little and tapping his water glass with a fingernail. She sensed he was thinking of other things. She felt a sudden flash of sympathy for Alec. Jace couldn't be an easy person to care about. Jace looked up as the waitress passed. "Are we ever going to get any coffee?" he said aloud, interrupting Alec midsentence.

Alec subsided, his energy fading. "I…"

Clary spoke up quickly. "Why don't we order?" Clary picked up a menu and perused the perfectly ordinary menu selections with a feeling of stupefaction. It was all too much. "They have smoothies here?"

"There's this apricot-plum smoothie with wildflower honey that's simply divine," said Isabelle, who had appeared a moment before. "Shove over," she said to Clary, who scooted so close to the wall that she could feel the cold bricks pressing into her arm. "You should have one." Clary said nothing. Isabella's hair tickled her face, smelling of some kind of vanilla perfume. Clary fought the urge to sneeze. She hated vanilla perfume. She'd never understood why some girls felt the need to smell like that moment the waitress arrived to take their order. Up close she was still a pretty blond girl, but her eyes were unnerving—entirely blue, with no white or pupil at all. She smiled with sharp little teeth.

"Know what you're having?"

Jace grinned. "The usual," he said, and got a smile from the waitress in return.

"Me too," Alec chimed in, though he didn't get the smile. Isabelle fastidiously ordered a fruit smoothie, Simon asked for coffee, and Clary, after a moment's hesitation, chose a large coffee and coconut pancakes. The waitress winked a blue eye at her and flounced off.

Jace nudged Alec. "Hey, let me out for a second."

Scowling, Alec moved aside. Clary watched Jace as he strode over to Kaelie, who was leaning against the bar, talking to the cook through the pass-through to the kitchen. All Clary could see of the cook was a bent head in a white chef's hat. Tall furry ears poked through holes cut into either side of the turned to smile at Jace, who put an arm around her. She snuggled in. Isabelle rolled her eyes. "He really shouldn't tease the wait-staff like that."

Alec looked at her. "You don't think he means it? That he likes her, I mean."

Isabelle shrugged. "She's a waitress," she said, as if that explained everything. Jace slid back into his seat next to Alec. His hair was mussed and there was a lipstick mark on his cheek.

"That's not nice, Isabelle. I'm sure you could be one if you gave the owner the time of day." He grinned as Kaelie appeared and distributed their food. Clary regarded her pancakes consideringly. They looked fantastic: golden brown, drenched with honey. She took a bite as Kaelie wobbled off on her high heels.

They were delicious.

"I told you it was the greatest restaurant in Manhattan," said Jace, eating fries with his fingers. "Anyways, we found a name by Dorothea's. Magnus Bane. Anybody know him?"

"Wait." Isabelle suddenly sat up straight. "What did you say that name was?" she demanded, turning to Jace. He shrugged.

"Magnus Bane." "It can't be—but I'm almost totally sure—" Isabelle dug into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of blue paper. She wiggled it between her fingers. "Look at this."

Alec held out his hand for the paper, glanced at it with a shrug, and handed it to Jace. "It's a party invitation. For somewhere in Brooklyn," he said. "I hate Brooklyn."

**A:N/ Brooklyn is AWESOME! Anyone who argues will get a kick in the ass, courtesy of me.**

"Don't be such a snob," said Jace. Then, just as Isabelle had, he sat up straight and stared. "Where did you get this, Izzy?"

She fluttered her hand airily. "From that dancer in Pandemonium. She said it would be awesome. She had a whole stack of them."

"What is it?" Clary demanded impatiently. "Are you going to show the rest of us, or not?"

Jace turned it around so they could all read it. It was printed on thin paper, nearly parchment, in a thin, elegant, spidery hand. It announced a gathering at the humble home of Magnus the Magnificent, and promised attendees "a rapturous evening of delights beyond your wildest imaginings."

"Magnus," said Clary. "Magnus like Magnus Bane?"

"I doubt there are that many people named Magnus in the Tristate Area," said Jace.

Alec blinked at it. "Does that mean we have to go to the party?" he inquired of no one in particular.

"We don't have to do anything," said Jace, who was reading the fine print on the invitation. "But this Magnus is someone that your mother wanted you to meet, and I, for one, would like to know what he has to do with you running away."

**Yeah, I think you know me well enough to know what I'm going to say. All together, now. REVIEWS, PEOPLE!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey! Peeps, please, if you're interested in joining in on the party in my other book, let me know! Oh, and I forgot to put a disclaimer on the previous chapters, so here it is: I do not own any of the characters, just the plot line. The right goes to Cassandra Clare, who must have a huge imagination to be able to make this all up, and I'm sure we all thank her.  
**

**Attention Wow (Guest): I apologize if I offended you. I don't think people would be too happy if I deleted it at this point in the proceedings, and it's not going to have any more parts of the book after this. Hopefully, you will be satisfied. If not, feel free to contact me through whatever means of communication are open to you as a guest. I apologize once again.**

The party didn't start until midnight, so with a whole day to kill, Jace and Alec disappeared to the weapons room, and Isabelle announced her intention of going shopping for the day. Clary went to her room, pacing restlessly. Finally, bored out of her mind, she went to the library. Once inside, she crossed to the shelves, picked a book at random, and made her way to the couches. On the way, something on Hodge's desk caught her eye. A photograph. It was the photograph of a group of young people, none much older than Clary herself. She knew it had been taken at least twenty years ago, not because of the clothes they were wearing—which, like most Shadowhunter gear, were nondescript and black—but because she recognized her mother instantly: Jocelyn, no more than seventeen or eighteen, her hair halfway down her back and her face a little rounder, the chin and mouth less defined. She looks like me, Clary thought dazedly. Jocelyn's arm was around a boy Clary didn't recognize. It gave her a jolt. The boy was good-looking, with hair so fair it was nearly white, and black eyes.

"That's Valentine," said a voice at her elbow. "When he was seventeen." She leaped back, almost dropping the photo.

It was Hodge, looking at her with curious eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she said, setting the photograph down on the desk and backing hastily away. "I didn't mean to pry into your things."

"It's all right." He touched the photograph with a scarred and weathered hand—a strange contrast to the neat spotlessness of his tweed cuffs. "It's a piece of your past, after all."

Clary drifted back toward the desk as if the photo exerted a magnetic pull. The white-haired boy in the photo was smiling at Jocelyn, his eyes crinkled in that way that boys' eyes crinkled when they really liked you. Nobody, Clary thought, had ever looked at her that way. Valentine, with his cold, fine-featured face, looked absolutely unlike her own father, with his open smile and the bright hair she'd inherited. "Valentine looks … sort of nice."

"Nice he wasn't," said Hodge, with a twisted smile, "but he was charming and clever and very persuasive. Do you recognize anyone else?"

She looked again. Standing behind Valentine, a little to the left, was a thin boy with a shock of light brown hair. He had the big shoulders and gawky wrists of someone who hadn't grown into his height yet. "Is that you?"

Hodge nodded and pointed to a tall man with glasses and sea-blue eyes. "Lucian. And here." Leaning over the photo, Hodge indicated an elegant-looking teenage couple, both dark-haired, the girl half a head taller than the boy. Her features were narrow and predatory, almost cruel. "The Lightwoods," he said. "And there"—he indicated a very handsome boy with curling dark hair, high color in his square-jawed face—"is Michael Wayland." Clary smiled at him.

"Thank you for showing this to me. I can't sleep. I keep thinking too much. Could you…"

"Ah, the unquiet mind." His voice was full of sympathy. "I can give you something for that. Wait here."

The potion Hodge gave her smelled pleasantly of juniper and leaves. Clary kept opening the vial and smelling it on her way back down the corridor. It was unfortunately still open when she entered her bedroom and found Jace sprawled out on the bed, looking at her sketchbook. With a little shriek of astonishment, she dropped the vial; it bounced across the floor, spilling pale-green liquid onto the hardwood.

"Oh, dear," said Jace, sitting up, the sketchbook abandoned. "I hope that wasn't anything important."

"It was a sleeping potion," she said angrily, toeing the vial with the tip of a sneaker. "And now it's gone."

"If only Simon were here. He could probably bore you to sleep."

Clary was in no mood to defend Simon. Instead she sat down on the bed, picking up the sketchbook. "I don't usually let people look at this."

"Why not?" Jace looked tousled, as if he'd been asleep himself. "You're a pretty good artist. Sometimes even excellent."

"Well, because—it's like a diary. Except I don't think in words, I think in pictures, so it's all drawings. But it's still private." She wondered if she sounded as crazy as she suspected.

Jace looked wounded. "A diary with no drawings of me in it? Where are the torrid fantasies? The romance novel covers? The—"

"Do all the girls you meet fall in love with you?" Clary asked quietly.

The question seemed to deflate him, like a pin popping a balloon. "It's not love," he said, after a pause. "At least—"

"You could try not being charming all the time," Clary said. "It might be a relief for everyone."

He looked down at his hands. They were like Hodge's hands already, snowflaked with tiny white scars, though the skin was young and unlined. "If you're really tired, I could put you to sleep," he said. "Tell you a bedtime story."

She looked at him. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious."

She wondered if being tired had made them both a little crazy. But Jace didn't look tired. He looked almost sad. She set the sketchbook down on the night table, and lay down, curling sideways on the pillow. "Okay."

"Close your eyes."

She closed them. She could see the afterimage of lamplight reflected against her inner lids, like tiny starbursts.

"Once there was a boy," said Jace. "When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors—killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky.

"The falcon didn't like the boy, and the boy didn't like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn't know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus was nearly impossible to tame. But the boy tried, because his father had told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father.

"He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldn't bring himself to do it—instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. He fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that its beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen.

"He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like light. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he nearly shouted with delight. Sometimes the bird would hop to his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud.

"Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck.

'I told you to make it obedient,' his father said, and dropped the falcon's lifeless body to the ground. 'Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.'

"Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed."

Clary, who had been lying still, hardly breathing, rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. "That's an awful story," she said indignantly.

Jace had his legs pulled up, his chin on his knees. "Is it?" he said ruminatively.

"The boy's father is horrible. It's a story about child abuse. I should have known that's what Shadowhunters think a bedtime story is like. Anything that gives you screaming nightmares—"

"Sometimes the Marks can give you screaming nightmares," said Jace. "If you get them when you're too young." He looked at her thoughtfully. The late afternoon light came in through the curtains and made his face a study in contrasts. Chiaroscuro, she thought. The art of shadows and light. "It's a good story if you think about it," he said. "The boy's father is just trying to make him stronger. Inflexible."

"But you have to learn to bend a little," said Clary with a yawn. Despite the story's content, the rhythm of Jace's voice had made her sleepy. "Or you'll break."

"Not if you're strong enough," said Jace firmly. He reached out, and she felt the back of his hand brush her cheek; she realized her eyes were slipping shut. Exhaustion made her bones liquid; she felt as if she might wash away and vanish. "Jace," she tried to say. But sleep had her in its claws; it drew her down, and she was silent.

**Reviews! Pretty please?**


	10. Chapter 10

She was woken by an urgent voice. "Get up!"

Clary opened her eyes slowly. They felt gluey, stuck together. Something was tickling her face. It was someone's hair. She sat up quickly, and her head struck something hard.

"Ow! You hit me in the head!" It was a girl's voice. Isabelle. She flicked on the light next to the bed and regarded Clary resentfully, rubbing at her scalp. She seemed to shimmer in the lamplight—she was wearing a long silvery skirt and a sequined top, and her nails were painted like glittering coins. Strands of silver beads were caught in her dark hair. She looked like a moon goddess.

Clary hated her.

"Well, nobody told you to lean over me like that. You practically scared me to death." Clary rubbed at her own head. There was a sore spot just above her eyebrow. "What do you want, anyway?"

Isabelle indicated the dark night sky outside. "It's almost midnight. We've got to leave for the party, and you're still not dressed."

"I was just going to wear this," Clary said, indicating her jeans and T-shirt ensemble. "Is that a problem?"

"Is that a problem?" Isabelle looked like she might faint. "Of course it's a problem! No one going to a party would wear those clothes. And it's a party. You'll stick out like a sore thumb if you dress that…casually," she finished, looking as if the word she'd wanted to use was a lot worse than "casually."

"I didn't know we were dressing up," Clary said sourly. "I don't have any party clothes with me."

"You'll just have to borrow mine."

"Oh no." Clary thought of the too-big T-shirt and jeans. "I mean, I couldn't. Really."

Isabelle's smile was as glittering as her nails. "I insist."

"I'd really rather wear my own clothes," Clary protested, squirming uncomfortably as Isabelle positioned her in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom.

"Well, you can't," Isabelle said. "You look about eight years old, and worse, you look like a mundane."

Clary set her jaw rebelliously. "None of your clothes are going to fit me."

"We'll see about that."

Clary watched Isabelle in the mirror as she rifled through her closet. Her room looked as if a disco ball had exploded inside it. The walls were black and shimmered with swirls of sponged-on golden paint. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on the rumpled black bed, hung over the backs of the wooden chairs, spilling out of the closet and the tall wardrobe propped against one wall. Her vanity table, its mirror rimmed with spangled pink fur, was covered in glitter, sequins, and pots of blush and powder.

"Nice room," Clary said, thinking longingly of her orange walls at home.

"Thanks. I painted it myself." Isabelle emerged from the closet, holding something black and slinky. She tossed it at Clary.

Clary held the cloth up, letting it unfold. "It looks awfully small."

"It's stretchy," said Isabelle. "Now go put it on."

Hastily, Clary retreated to the small bathroom, which was painted bright blue. She wriggled the dress on over her head—it was tight, with tiny spaghetti straps. Trying not to inhale too deeply, she returned to the bedroom, where Isabelle was sitting on the bed, sliding a set of jeweled toe rings onto her sandaled feet.

Clary scowled. "It's too short."

"It's not short. It's fine," Isabelle said, toeing around under the bed. She kicked out a pair of boots and some black fishnet tights. "Here, you can wear these with it. They'll make you look taller."

"Right, because I'm flat-chested and a midget." Clary tugged the hem of the dress down. It just brushed the tops of her thighs. She hardly ever wore skirts, much less short ones, so seeing this much of her own legs was alarming. "If it's this short on me, how short must it be on you?" she mused aloud to Isabelle.

Isabelle grinned. "On me it's a shirt."

Clary flopped down on the bed and pulled the tights and boots on. The shoes were a little loose around the calves, but didn't slide around on her feet. She laced them to the top and stood up, looking at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that the combination of short black dress, fishnets, and high boots was fairly BA. The only thing that spoiled it was—

"Your hair," Isabelle said. "It needs fixing. Desperately. Sit." She pointed imperiously toward the vanity table. Clary sat, and squinched her eyes shut as Isabelle yanked her hair out of its braids—none too kindly—brushed it out, and shoved what felt like bobby pins into it. She opened her eyes just as a powder puff smacked her in the face, releasing a dense cloud of glitter. Clary coughed and glared at Isabelle accusingly.

The other girl laughed. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."

Glancing in the mirror, Clary saw that Isabelle had pulled her hair up into an elegant swirl on the top of her head, held in place with sparkling pins. Clary was reminded suddenly of her dream, the heavy hair weighing her head down, dancing with Simon … She stirred restlessly.

"Don't get up yet," Isabelle said. "We're not done." She seized an eyeliner pen. "Open your eyes."

Clary widened her eyes, which was good for keeping herself from crying. "Isabelle, can I ask you something?'

"Sure," said Isabelle, wielding the eyeliner expertly.

"Is Alec gay?" Isabelle's wrist jerked. The eyeliner skidded, inking a long line of black from the corner of Clary's eye to her hairline. "Oh, hell," Isabelle said, putting the pen down.

"It's all right," Clary began, putting her hand up to her eye.

"No, it isn't." Isabelle sounded near tears as she scrambled around among the piles of junk on top of the vanity. Eventually she came up with a cotton ball, which she handed to Clary. "Here. Use this." She sat down on the edge of the bed, ankle bracelets jingling, and looked at Clary through her hair. "How did you guess?" she said finally.

"You absolutely can't tell anyone," said Isabelle.

"Not even Jace?"

"Especially not Jace!"

"All right." Clary heard the stiffness in her own voice. "I guess I didn't realize it was such a big deal."

"It would be to my parents," said Isabelle quietly. "They would disown him and throw him out of the house—"

"What, you can't be gay in your community?"

"There's no official rule about it. But people don't like it. I mean, less with people our age—I think," she added, uncertainly. "But the older generation, no. If it happens, you don't talk about it."

"Oh," said Clary, wishing she'd never mentioned it.

"I love my brother," said Isabelle. "I'd do anything for him. But there's nothing I can do."

"At least he has you," said Clary awkwardly, and she thought for a moment of Jace, who thought of love as something that broke you into pieces. "Do you really think that Jace would … mind?"

"I don't know," said Isabelle, in a tone that indicated she'd had enough of the topic. "But it's not my choice to make."

"I guess not," Clary said. She leaned in to the mirror, using the cotton Isabelle had given her to dab away the excess eye makeup. When she sat back, she nearly dropped the cotton ball in surprise: What had Isabelle done to her? Her cheekbones looked sharp and angular, her eyes deep-set, mysterious, and a luminous green.

"I look like my mom," she said in surprise.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows. "What? Too middle-aged? Maybe some more glitter—"

"No more glitter," Clary said hastily.

"No, it's good. I like it."

"Great." Isabelle bounced up off the bed, her anklets chiming. "Let's go."

"I need to stop by my room and grab something," Clary said, standing up.


	11. Chapter 11

The boys were waiting for them in the entryway. They were wearing black. Jace looked like the sort of boy who'd come over to your house and burn it down for kicks.

"I like the dress," he said, unhitching himself from the wall. His eyes ran up and down her lazily, like the stroking paws of a cat. "It needs a little something extra, though."

"So now you're a fashion expert?" Her voice came out unevenly—he was standing very close to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

He reached over and pulled the sparkling pins out of her hair, so that it fell in warm and heavy curls down her neck. The sensation of hair tickling her bare skin was unfamiliar and oddly pleasant.

"Much better," he said, and she thought this time that maybe his voice was slightly uneven too.

They made their way to the address on the invitation. Isabelle pressed the buzzer. Nothing happened. She pressed it again. She was about to press it a third time when Alec caught her wrist. "Don't be rude," he said.

She glared at him. "Alec—"

The door flew open.

A slender man standing in the doorway regarded them curiously. It was Isabelle who recovered herself first, flashing a brilliant smile. "Magnus? Magnus Bane?"

"That would be me." The man blocking the doorway was as tall and thin as a rail, his hair a crown of dense black spikes. Clary guessed from the curve of his sleepy eyes and the gold tone of his evenly tanned skin that he was part Asian. He wore jeans and a black shirt covered with dozens of metal buckles. His eyes were crusted with a raccoon mask of charcoal glitter, his lips painted a dark shade of blue. He raked a ring-laden hand through his spiked hair and regarded them thoughtfully. "Well, well. I don't recall inviting you."

Isabelle took out her invitation and waved it like a white flag. "I have an invitation. These"—she indicated the rest of the group with a grand wave of her arm—"are my friends." Magnus plucked the invitation out of her hand and looked at it with fastidious distaste.

"I must have been drunk," he said. He threw the door open. "Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests."

The center of the room was packed with bodies dancing to the pounding beat that bounced off the walls, though Clary couldn't see a band anywhere.

"You like the party?"

She turned to see Magnus lounging against one of the pillars. His eyes shone in the darkness. Glancing around, she saw that Jace and the others were gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

She tried to smile. "Is it in honor of anything?"

"My cat's birthday."

"Oh." She glanced around. "Where's your cat?"

He unhitched himself from the pillar, looking solemn. "I don't know. He ran away."

Clary was spared responding to this by the reappearance of Jace and Alec. Alec looked sullen as usual.

"Look," Jace said, turning to Magnus, "we really need to talk to you. It's important." Magnus nodded.

"My room, now."

o(^_^)o

Magnus's bedroom was a riot of color: canary-yellow sheets and bedspread draped over a mattress on the floor, electric blue vanity table strewn with more pots of paint and makeup than Isabelle's. Rainbow velvet curtains hid the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a tangled wool rug covered the floor.

"Nice place," said Jace, drawing aside a heavy swag of curtain. "Guess whatever you do pays well?"

"It pays," Magnus said. "Not much of a benefit package, though. No dental." He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. When he crossed his arms, his T-shirt rode up, showing a strip of flat golden stomach unmarked by a navel. "So... What do you need? Passports? Driver's licences? Birth certificates?" Clary glanced from Magnus to Jace.

"Excuse me?" Magnus frowned.

"Ah. Now I see. What's your name, child?" Clary swallowed hard.

"Clary Fray." Magnus nodded.

"Your mother's child, through and through." Alec's brows knit together.

"You know her mom?" Magnus nodded.

"All the way from the old country. You know her story?" Clary nodded. "I was the one who got her a new identity, helped her escape the life she led way back when." Jace nodded.

"Valentine came and found them. Clary got a hold of your address from this." He pulled out the business card, and Magnus nodded.

"She told me that if this happened, I should help you get out of the country. She's been giving me pictures every year to make you new papers, so that they wouldn't expire for another five years after you left. When you were younger, I was prepared to make the trip with you, but now..." Clary sat down on the bed.

"All this time..." Magnus nodded.

"When do you want to go?" Clary's head shot up.

"What?"

"Well, I'm assuming you want to take your mother's sacrifice and use it to your full advantage. I'm thinking of sending you to Canada, or Switzerland, or Australia. I have contacts in ASIS if you-"

"I'm not leaving! You're suggesting I abandon my friends, my mom, my life..." Magnus smiled humorlessly.

"Well, honey, in case you haven't heard, there's a deranged psycopath after you. I would keep it on the down-low from now on, and that means no connections with your former life." Clary shook her head in disbelief.

"Simon. Maia. Jordan. Rafael. Everyone. I have to cut myself off?" Magnus shrugged.

"It's your choice, honey." He reached over to the wardrobe and pulled out a small bag. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in. Take these. They're your birth certificate, passport, licence, all under a new name. There's a wad of cash in there as well, that your mom left you. If you need to, leave. Buy a ticket and get out of the country. Until then, get your act together and figure out what you want to do." Just then, Clary's phone rang. She blinked when she saw the Caller ID.

"Simon? What's going on?" Simon's breathing was labored.

"Clary. Look, you need to run." There was a muffled thud, and Simon's breathing quickened. Clary's heart skipped a beat.

"What's going on, Si?" He didn't answer.

"Just run away from here, and promise me you won't-" There was a huge crash, then laughter.

"Well, lookie here. A rat caught in a trap." Clary froze. It was Rafael. She would know his voice anywhere. She heard Simon growling, and the soft thud of the phone hitting the floor.

"Let me go, you bastards! Get off!" A tear ran down her cheek. She was vaguely aware of Jace asking what was wrong, but she didn't respond until another voice came through.

"Tie him up and shove him in the closet. I'll take care of the little princess." It was Sebastian. What was he doing? Why was Simon in such trouble? She put the phone on speaker, then Sebastian's voice came again, closer this time.

"Hello, Clary. I would have thought you would be on the other end." Jace growled.

"Where's Simon, bastard?" Sebastian laughed.

"Oh, here and there. He's having a particularly bad night. Anyways, please put my sister back on." There was a pause, and even Magnus went white. Jace's eyes hardened.

"Jonathon."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey, peeps. I think this is the last chapter. I might write a sequel, but that's up to you!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments. I so wish!**

"Let Simon go. He has no relevance in this." Jonathon laughed.

"On the contrary. He has everything to do with it. Now put my sister on the phone, or heads will roll." There was a click, and they heard a scream. Clary went white.

"Maia!" Tears streamed down her face. "Stop it, Jonathon! Please!" Jonathon laughed, and the line went silent for a moment.

"Come back to the house, and come alone. If you don't come, or if there's anyone else there, you can say goodbye to one of your friends. I think I'll start with Jordan, although if you have a preference, I'd be glad to hear it. Ciao!" The line went dead. Magnus exhaled in a puff of breath.

"Well, that was straightforward." Clary stood.

"I have to go." Jace grabbed her arm.

"Clary. You can't leave. Please." His voice cracked, and he looked at her helplessly as she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Jace. Maia, Simon, Jordan, I can't let him hurt them." He stared at her, eyes wide and pleading, and she grabbed his face and kissed him. He melted into the kiss for a moment before she pulled away. "I'm sorry, Jace." Then she ran.

o(^_^)o

Valentine was waiting for her at the house. He smiled as she walked slowly toward him.

"Who's with you?" Clary stopped a foot away from him.

"There's no one else here. I came alone, just like you wanted me to." Valentine smiled slightly.

"I don't believe you. Jonathon!" There was a shriek of outrage, and Jonathon appeared, towing Isabelle with him. A stream of curses spewed from her mouth, mostly having to do with Jonathon and improper relationships with the devil. Clary let out a squeaking noise as Jonathon threw her friend to the floor and drew back his foot, delivering a vicious kick to her ribs.

"Izzy!" Isabelle didn't cry out. She rolled away and came up standing, then took a knife from her boot and threw it at Jonathon. The blade flew straight at him and clean through his wrist, severing the hand from his arm. It hit the ground with a sickening thump, and Clary winced involuntarily. Jonathon didn't even flinch, only scowled.

"You little-"

"Jonathon! Get in the house and put a bandage on that. I'll take care of this." He strode over to Clary, who was about to run to her friend, and yanked her back by the hair. "As for you..." He swung her head into the wall, and she fell. Her vision was foggy, but she was just able to make out Izzy, standing in front of Valentine with another blade in hand, and someone else behind him, someone with golden hair...

"Jace!" Valentine heard her, and turned around, but not before Jace slammed something thick onto his head with a resounding clang! Valentine crumpled, and Jace ran over to Clary.

"Clary! Clary, listen, I called the police, it'll be fine, he's not going to hurt you..." As much as she tried not to, she felt herself slip out of consciousness, and the world turned black.

o(^_^)o

"Clary! Clary, wake up." Clary wrenched her eyelids apart; they felt glued together. Someone was standing over her, tawny eyes alight with worry. "Clary." Relief was plain in his voice as he stroked her face.

"Jace." She sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" Memories came rushing back, and she gasped. "Isabelle! Is she-"

"She's okay, Clary. We found your mom locked in the bedroom, and Valentine has been arrested." Clary's eyebrows knit together.

"What about Jonathon?" Jace shifted from one foot to another.

"Clary... Jonathon disappeared. No one could find him. I'm sorry." Clary's eyes shone as she smiled half-heartedly at him.

"It's fine. My mother is okay. That's all that matters." Jace nodded and sat down on the bed.

"Your friends are fine, though. I found Rafael in the house and made him tell me where the lair is. He led me straight there, and I let your friends free. Maia is very worried." Clary laughed slightly.

"Is she here?" Jace nodded.

"Along with Jordan and Simon. Can they come in?" Clary laughed out loud.

"Of course! Come on in, guys!" The door slammed open, and Maia ran in, her hair a mess of tangles. There was a long cut down the length of her arm. Jordan had a black eye, but otherwise he was fine. Simon was the worst. He had a bandage around his neck, and was walking on crutches, with a cast on his right leg. He smiled grimly at her horrified expression.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Fray. I can manage." She smiled.

"Don't worry, Si. You're not the only one with problems." Maia scowled playfully at her.

"Clary, if you ever find out that you have a psychopathic brother intent on torturing you again, you will be sorry." Jace laughed.

"I'm sure she'll keep that in mind. Where's Jocelyn?"

"Right here," came a quiet voice in the doorway.

Clary started. She had always seen her mother as a woman in paint-stained overalls. Now, she wore much the same thing as Isabelle, tight fitting black pants, a black shirt that hugged her figure, and black boots. This was what she had grown up as. This was what she had run away from. Now she could come back.

"Mom?" Clary whispered. Jocelyn smiled.

"It's still me." There was a moment where everything stood still, then Clary ran over to her mother and threw her arms around her, breathing in the scent of tempera paint and perfume. "I love you, mom."

o(^_^)o

Later on, after everyone had left, Clary and Jace lay down on the bed and talked. It was mostly inconsequential things, and there was a feeling of warm contentedness in the room as Jace caught her up on things. Apparently Isabelle had fallen for Simon as soon as she had seen him, and he was loving all the attention. Alec and Magnus had gotten together, and now Alec spent all his free time at Magnus's apartment. After a while, Jace sighed and rolled on his side to look at Clary.

"This is how I want it to be for the rest of my life. Lying down, talking to someone I love. I don't have to care about anything, I can just be me with you." Clary sucked in a sharp breath.

"Jace..." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, slowly, and she moaned in pleasure. As he pulled away, there was a new fierceness in his eyes.

"Clary, I love you, and I'll love you until the day I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you still." He looked nervous as he said that, as if he wasn't sure how she would react. Clary smiled.

"You stupid boy. I love you too." And she kissed him.

**Well, that's it, then. I love you all! Thanks for joining me. Oh, and if any of you actually care, I recently discovered that the link on my profile is faulty. I replaced it with other links. Ciao, and I love you guys, even if I don't. So, yeah. Peace out.**


	13. Author's Note

**A/N: Hey, peeps! I'm really sorry if you guys think that this is a new chapter, maybe the first of the sequel, because it's not. I've decided to take down "Kidnapped or Rescued?" on the second of September. I will then rewrite it as I see fit. It wont be too different, it just wont be copied and pasted word for word. Thank you to all the guests who got angry at me about that. Please keep checking out my profile to see if I continued it! I really don't want to lose my readers. Love you all! Happy reading/writing!**

**Fly on, stay alive, mitzpa, *three finger salute,* goodbye, mwazzers, ciao, להתראות****, до свидания, au revoir, kwaheri, 再見****, さようなら****, etc.**


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